Crumbling Like Pastries
by sweaters and glasses
Summary: If Cas closed his eyes, he could almost smell the faint scent of leather and mint that trailed Dean like a seductive familiar and see those brilliant green eyes that crinkled whenever the Winchester smiled, despite the suffering that tried to hide in those emerald depths. Cas never thought he'd see that again. HURT!DEAN LOVING!HUMAN!CAS AU


**BEWARE: SOME LANGUAGE AND A FEW DARKISH THEMES.**

Castiel could never really forget Dean Winchester.

If Cas closed his eyes, he could almost smell the faint scent of leather and mint that trailed Dean like a seductive familiar and see those brilliant green eyes that crinkled whenever the Winchester smiled, despite the suffering that tried to hide in those emerald depths.

Needless to say, Cas didn't sleep much anymore. But that was okay. Most of the time, the numbness of being awake beats thinking about Dean Winchester. Goodness knows Cas did too much of that when they had known each other while still in school.

Don't get him wrong, though. It used to be that Cas loved thinking about Dean, about watching out for his friend when Dean couldn't do that himself. Obviously, that was easier to do if there _was_ a Dean to watch over.

"_Dean, come with me," Cas said, his tone almost pleading. It was nighttime, yet the train station glowed like an island of light. Autumn was closing in swiftly in the little town of theirs and at this hour, the wind was cruel, tugging at their coats and making their cheeks and nose red from the cold._

"_This isn't some fairy tale, Cas. I can't just drive off into the sunset with you." Dean wrapped his arms tighter about himself and glanced away._

"_I'm not asking you to drop everything and leave. Hell, I'd be okay with you not coming with me if I know that for once you'd do something for yourself. Not for Sam or for your dick father, but for you." _

"_I can mind myself, Cas—you don't have to baby me, you know. Don't worry about that. Just, don't start with this again. Please?"_

"_You're killing yourself every day you're with John," Cas said darkly, refusing to let his argument go._

"_Death's natural."_

"_But we don't generally encourage it to come prematurely," Cas snapped. _

"_It's not like I have a fucking choice, okay?"_

"_Don't you say that to me, Dean Winchester. I'm offering you a choice right now."_

"_A choice with consequences. Heavy consequences, and you know that."_

_Silence. Cas and Dean were at an impasse again, as they usually found themselves at every time they had this conversation._

"_Dean, I-"_

"_Your train's arrived," Dean cut in, reaching for Cas' suitcases. He began dragging them into the waiting train, and after a few moments, Cas followed suit, albeit reluctantly._

_They had just finished loading Cas' stuff into the proper compartments when the train sounded a bell. Departure in one minute._

_Dean was about to exit the train when he felt Cas grabbing him by the shoulder, pulling him into a fierce embrace. _

"_Guess I can't change your mind, then can I?" Cas whispered. He'd rather that he and Dean not end like this, but it was better than an unfinished argument. Cas would take what he could._

"_Maybe someday. But not now," Dean replied softly._

"_Stay alive, 'til then, okay?"_

"_You know I will."_

"_I'll miss you, Dean."_

"_Miss you too." As the final bell rung, Dean untangled himself from Cas' arms and stepped away. "Go slay 'em in college, okay?"_

"_Okay."_

_And the train doors slid shut._

Cas hadn't seen Dean since. Despite promises and their best efforts, the times between the start of college and winter break when Cas and Dean could get in touch with each other were rare. Cas was usually busy dividing his time between studying and working at a close by sandwich shop and John could hardly ever be counted on to let Dean out of his sight. He had returned the coming winter break only to find that Dean and his family had left town, to goodness knows where.

_Dead_, Cas' mind had supplied him when months of searching for Dean proved fruitless. That, however, was a possibility Cas refused to believe, if only to keep him sane. But Cas couldn't go on trying to find Dean forever. Dean would probably smack Cas if he knew what Cas was doing.

_I'm not worth it_, Dean would say, smiling that smile that never quite reached his eyes.

What Dean didn't seem to know was that he _was_ worth it, worth everything. He had been a friend, almost a brother…however if asked, Cas wouldn't say that they were 'just friends' or that their relationship was brotherly. There was something more to their bond; it was almost as if they were…

But Cas wouldn't know. Couldn't know.

Cas didn't know how he'd managed to put his life back together after Dean's vanishing act had punched a gaping hole in it, but he did. He picked up his life and set it down in some generic city and in a way, disappeared himself.

It was strange, living life so numbly. It was better than living life comatose, Cas supposed.

So he managed.

Each day, he'd drink the same cup of black coffee.

Trenchcoat on, shoes on. Then he'd walk to work at the Roadhouse Tea, Coffee, and Bookshop.

Come nighttime, Cas would walk back to his apartment, the scent of tea, coffee, and old books trailing him the whole way home.

Trenchcoat off, shoes off.

Bed.

Repeat.

It far from perfect, but it was routine—until it wasn't.

Cas' day had started off routinely enough, however.

Coffee.

Trenchcoat on, shoes on.

Roadhouse…

It was the walk home where normalcy ended.

Cas didn't know how late it was when he finally left the Roadhouse. He had opted to stay behind to clean up and fix the pipes when the snow that had been piling up all day began flooding the shop, muddying the floors and making the ink on the flyers pasted on the walls run.

By the time the Roadhouse's door jingled shut behind him, nothing sounded better to Cas than the moment when he could finally sink into his bed and be dead to the world.

He had gotten home without much trouble—or as little trouble as one could encounter when the city was deep in the grip of winter.

It was when Cas had made it the fourth floor of his apartment building that trouble found him at last. Cas couldn't really say he had not saw it coming. In all fairness, he had heard the commotion as soon as entered his apartment and tiredly threw himself face down on the couch; it noise seemed to be coming from the room directly above him. The thing about living in a decrepit excuse of an apartment was that it had terribly thin walls.

"You got what you wanted. Now kindly fuck off." It wasn't someone he knew lived in the building, but something familiar about it made Cas scramble upright on the couch.

"Gladly if you stayed, sweetheart. Though I can't promise 'kindly'." A new speaker—it was Crowley. That Cas knew for sure. At this hour, the slightly drunken slur in the man's words was nothing new.

"Let me go!"

"Come on, love, don't be like that." There was some shuffling, followed by the sounds of glass shattering.

"AURGH. YOU LITTLE BITCH."

Before Cas knew what he was doing, he was throwing on the wrinkled trenchcoat he had hung up upon getting home and sprinting up the stairs. He threw open the stairwell doors leading to the fifth floor only to find a hallway full of closed doors not wanted to get pulled into the mess and figure that was definitely _not_ Crowley barreling towards him.

Cas froze. It couldn't be. D-Dean? His eyes told him that it was, but his mind refused and the name stuck in his throat.

Dean didn't register Cas as he hurriedly pushed past him with little other acknowledgement than a mumbled 'sorry'.

As that familiar scent of leather and mint washed over Cas, he snapped out of his reverie and realized that with the weather outside, Dean can't possibly make it far.

"Come with me," Cas said as soon as he caught up to Dean, grabbing Dean's wrist firmly and pulling him along.

"H-Hey! Let go of me!"

"Shut up Dean," Cas said as he pushed his friend into his apartment.

Cas proceeded to lock the door, all the while listening for Crowley outside.

He held his breath as he heard the drunk lumber past, then sighed the footsteps faded.

"Cas?" Time had lowered Dean's voice and made it more gravelly than Cas had remembered—not that Cas could speak for himself.

"Hello, Dean." A million tiny thoughts were tumbling about in Cas' mind at seeing Dean after these years, yet Cas couldn't help but distinguish one in particular: _not dead_.

"It's good to see you again, man." Dean smiled, however Cas' eyes were locked on the angry, purple bruise on Dean's cheek. At the center of the contusion, Dean's skin had split, creating a one-inch or so gash that was slowly trickling blood.

"You're hurt," Cas stated. It was then that Cas began noticing the little details about Dean. The Winchester's shirt had multiple tears in it and was much too thin to be worn in December. Fingerlike bruises circled the top of his right arm, the rest disappearing under his shirt's sleeve. Dean's eyes were bright—too bright, as if feverish. The cut on Dean's bottom lip bled as Dean's teeth worried at it, and Cas could practically see the gears spinning in the Winchester's head as he worked out the best way to answer.

"I'm fine," Dean finally said in that pig-headed way of his. Typical.

"No, you're not. Now come with me. I think I've got a first aid kit somewhere in the bathroom." Cas put a hand on Dean's shoulder and guided him further into the apartment.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm popular guy, Cas—got places to be tonight."

"I don't imagine you will be getting into many places looking like that. Now," Cas said as he sat Dean down on the edge of the bathtub, "want to explain you and Crowley?" His blue eyes stared at Dean searchingly.

A part of Cas already knew the answer. He'd seen the meticulously folded stack of twenties and fifties sticking out of Dean's back pocket when he had pushed the Winchester ahead of him into his apartment. And as Cas leaned closer to Dean to inspect his cuts and bruises, he could smell Crowley's trademark rum lingering on Dean's swollen lips and on his neck, where love bites were just beginning to darken.

"It's not your business, Cas," Dean said, managing to sound quiet and defensive and weary all at the same time.

But Cas had to ask anyway. He was so desperate for another explanation, for another story to contradict the one his deductions had given him, that he hadn't considered what he would do if Dean confirmed what he feared.

"You sold yourself to Crowley, didn't you?"

"Quit staring at me like that," Dean said instead, his voice tight. "I don't need your pity. I gotta do what I gotta do, sometimes, okay? Like leave. Right now." He pushed himself off the bathtub's edge.

"To do what? Whore yourself out again? Tell me, how did a thing like that happen?" Cas' outburst surprised the both of them. A hurt look flashed over Dean's features.

"Dean, I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean…"

Dean's expression hardened. "Yeah, Cas, to whore myself out again. You want to know the story? Fine. After you left, John crossed some people he shouldn't have and we had to leave town, cover our tracks. I thought I could leave John after Sammy got himself into college—Stanford of all places, the geek. I figured Sammy would be out of John's reach in college and I could put out an anonymous tip on John's doings without the possibility of losing Sam to CPS. And then I could get away. But it didn't happen like that. I woke up one morning to find an eleven- year old kid sitting in the living room. Said his name was Adam and he was my half-brother. His mom died so that left him under John's custody. The kid didn't have anywhere else to go, no one else to take him in. I came to John the first night, told him leave Adam alone. John said he would, but Adam's safety came at a cost. John sells me off to some person he knows and I line his pockets with enough money to keep him friendly. So, yeah. I'm a warm body in somebody else's bed now. Is that what you wanted to know? You happy, now Cas?"

Dean was breathing heavily and traitorous tears spilled from his green eyes. He swiped them away furiously, not even flinching when his palm brushed over the giant bruise on his cheek.

"Dean…" was all Cas said before he came closer to the Winchester and pulled the trembling man into his arms.

At this, something in Dean seemed to break. His fingers tightened on Cas' trenchcoat and his frame shook as he finally let the tears fall.

"Shhh…Just let it go Dean," Cas murmured.

They stood like this for what felt like forever. It wasn't until Cas heard Dean struggling to breathe normally again that he pulled away worriedly.

"Cas…I-I can't…I can't-"

"Deep breathes, Dean," Cas said as he sat Dean down on the floor and gently guided Dean's head towards his knees. With that, Cas settled next to Dean, grabbing the first aid kit as he did so.

Cas waited in silence for yet another eternity, his hand rubbing comfortingly up and down the length of Dean's back, as Dean tried to pull himself together.

When it seemed like Dean was no longer in danger of a panic attack, Cas began methodically pulling out bandages, antiseptic, and the tube of antiseptic from the kit with free hand.

"Are you a little better, Dean?" Cas asked softly.

Dean lifted his head and brushed away the errant tears that still clung to his skin.

"I'm fine," he whispered roughly.

Cas chose to leave the matter for now and at last started to fix his attention on Dean's wounds.

Dean was quiet as Cas patched him up.

"Why are you doing this Cas?" Dean suddenly asked out of nowhere, his voice still raw.

"Because this is what I've always done," Cas replied as he pressed the last bandage in place.

When the two of them left the bathroom, Dean tried to pretend like he hadn't just broke down ten minutes ago and Cas, though reluctant to just let it go and forget it, indulged him.

After Cas had swiftly whipped up some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for the both of them and they migrated to settle on the couch, he began telling Dean about what he believed was his fairly unimpressive life, though Dean was quick to admire the fact that Cas' homemade pies had become a menu item at the Roadhouse and that on his weekends off, Cas volunteered at a bee farm outside the city.

Cas was in the middle of telling Dean how he'd stumble across his gem of a trenchcoat when he felt a weight on his shoulder.

Dean had fallen asleep.

Cas sat still. He noted how much younger Dean looked when asleep despite the dark shadows apparent beneath his closed eyes.

As he slowly reached for his tea and sipped, reveling in the moment and the quiet, he had just one thought.

_This was how it should be._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: THANKS FOR READING! TBH that wasn't how this fic was supposed to have ended. The ending I had in mind was a lot more…unfulfilling, I guess. Still, I thought Cas and Dean deserved that little moment of almost happiness in the end ****because according to Cas just now, that was "how it should be" (or because I'm cheesier than cheese itself)  
**


End file.
